Skip to main content

Sierra Reflections 2011

Wrapped in the cozy warmth of a down bag I’m jolted awake from a deep slumber - nature calls. The silence is shattered by the rustle of my sleeping bag. The sweet aroma of the mountain fills the air, and that ever-present biting crisp air on your cheeks! The zipper moans as you free yourself, then the struggle to find your wool sweater, pants, and shoes to stumble into the brisk morning air. Another zipper whines as you crawl to escape the protection of your mountain shelter. Quietly . . . do not disturb is the invisible sign worn by your fellow campers.
Photo: Robert Weldon
Darkness surrounds you, it's early morning, late summer. It’s tranquil, except for the soft gurgle of the trout stream that lulled you to sleep the night before. Finally - clear weather, the rains have stopped; millions of stars twinkle like tiny sparkling diamonds against a pitch-black sky. Orion, the hunter is clearly visible in the eastern sky; careful inspection you can see the nebula glow. It's day three of my first wilderness-backpacking trip in the High Sierra Mountains’ (elevation 10,500 feet) 20 miles south west of Bishop California camped at Dingleberry Lake.

Will it rain today? We need to break camp. There is no rush, time on the mountain passes at a glacial pace. Has it really only been three days? The deluge of rain, sleet, and snow on the high peaks is but a memory now. However this morning, it's cold, crisp, and clear. Scanning the pristine heavens the clarity suggests another beautiful day in the Sierra Mountains.

Robert emerges from hibernation; his tent frozen, shaking off the cold he says in a whisper, “Lets' shoot the sunrise on these peaks that surround the campsite.” As Brendan sleeps, we make our way to the lakes edge, setup the camera and tripod, then sit back and experience the magic of the mountains as the morning sun rises on the peaks. Softly the blackness fades away and the very tip of the mountains begin to glow. What a glorious experience.

This morning is the culmination of an adventure that began Friday, September 9, 2011 with an invitation to join Robert Weldon and Brendan Laurs on a late summer wilderness expedition. My response was immediate, “Yes I’m in!” I was ready . . . well I thought so. Just a few months before with the anticipation of such a trip I had purchased a backpack. As we began to collect our gear for the trip, I proudly pulled my new backpack from the garage, Brendan’s immediate response, “Not with that tiny pack, we need to share food, cooking gear, tent, and supplies. We’ll stop in Bishop, you can rent a pack.”

Simultaneous thoughts begun to whirl through my mind; anticipation, confusion, apprehension, what will we need to pack, how much will we carry? Three days, will I be able to pack the necessary load and keep up? With a reassuring pat on the shoulder, Robert says, “No problem, its easy - you’ll see.” So, with that assurance we set off. The truck is packed to the hilt with equipment, food, and supplies for our weekend adventure in the Sierras’.

 Yes, this was a glimpse of my first wildness adventure – upon reflection I’m filled with an inner peace and feeling of accomplishment. An experience I’ll treasure for a lifetime. 

So, the next time you’re presented with the opportunity to backpack the Sierra’s, with seasoned travelers don’t hesitate, say, “yes I’m in!” You too will be exhilarated by the experience.

“We don’t remember days, we remember moments.” - Cesare Pavese
Labels:
Location: Dingleberry Lake, Inyo National Forest, California 93514, USA

Comments

Post a Comment

Most Popular of All Time

The Language of Home: Building a Sanctuary

This episode is  for anyone trying to find their footing in a new place—whether it’s a new city, a new job, or a new country. The light in Florence, Italy, has a way of making everything feel like a Renaissance painting—the golden hue on the stone, the steady rhythm of the Arno River, and the feeling that you are walking through a history much larger than yourself. I was there to give a presentation to a class of Gemology students. I was prepared to discuss color grading and refractive indices, but not to be outed as a language tutor . Feeling very much like a guest in a storied land, a hand shot up enthusiastically. "You’re the guy on the podcasts," the young woman said, her eyes bright with recognition. "You’re the one teaching us English." I laughed nervously. If you know my flat Midwestern accent, you know the irony here. I am hardly an Oxford professor. But later, as I wandered the cobblestone streets beneath the shadow of the Duomo, the humor faded into a powe...
Post a Comment
Read more

Practiced Hands: The 50-Year Warranty

What Doc Burch Taught Me About Staying Active. We talk a lot about "life hacks" these days, but most of them don’t have a very long shelf life. Usually, they’re forgotten by the next app update. But back in 1972, I received a piece of advice that came with a 50-year warranty. It’s the reason I’m still on my bike today, still chasing a golf ball around Carlsbad, and still—mostly—in one piece. The Kick That Changed Everything It started with a literal kick in the pants. A kid at school in Cuba, Illinois, was joking around and caught me just right. By the next morning, my lower back was screaming. My mom didn’t reach for the Tylenol; she reached for her car keys. "Let’s go see Doc Burch," she said. "He’ll fix you right up." Harry E. Burch, D.C., was a fixture in Lewistown. He’d graduated from Palmer College in ’59 and had been our family’s go-to for years. He was a man of practiced hands and steady eyes. After a quick exam and an X-ray, the mood in the room s...
Post a Comment
Read more

Chasing 70

In this episode,  Chasing 70: A Respectful Negotiation with Gravity They say golf is a game of misses. If that’s true, my first round of the year at Rancho Carlsbad was a masterclass in missing efficiently . After a four-month hiatus—during which my golf clubs quietly evolved into a self-sustaining garage ecosystem—Lori and I returned to our local par-three proving ground. Rancho Carlsbad is a par-54, just 1,983 yards long. That sounds forgiving until it exposes every weakness you’ve been politely ignoring during the off-season. I finished with a 78. In most contexts, 78 is respectable. On a par-54, it means I spent a fair amount of time “getting my steps in.” But here’s the real motivation: I turn 70 this August. As a core principle of my Great Un-Working Lifestyle, I’m putting it in writing: I want to shoot my age by my birthday. The Bald-Headed Man Course Around here, we have a nickname for Rancho Carlsbad. We call it the Bald-Headed Man Course. First, because there are no woods...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Miller Effect

In this episode - The Miller Effect . . . The sun hung high in the sky, casting shadows across the desolate landscape of Huron, California. Dr. Vo, a brilliant yet witty electrical engineer, stood before the main breaker box of a massive 1.4 MW-DC solar array that had confounded everyone who had dared to diagnose its persistent issue. It had been six long months of head-scratching and ten failed attempts by others before the desperate call came into Dr. Vo's office. As the sun's rays bathed the vast array in an orange glow, Dr. Vo stepped up to the Main breaker box, his sharp eyes shaded by his green Cenergy cap. He wore his North Face jacket that billowed in the light breeze, and his presence exuded an air of mystery and intrigue that was as pervasive as the problem at hand. The solar array was a colossal assemblage of panels, wires, and inverters, but the main breaker kept tripping, sending the entire operation into chaos. The workers at the site were on edge, muttering, “We’...
Post a Comment
Read more